The Sleuth's Apprentice
by Lady Schmetterling
Summary: Miriam Russell is a young and intelligent History student. Her life changes when she meets the famous consulting detective Sherlock Holmes and becomes his apprentice.
1. A Strange Meeting

_**Hello, guys! Long time, no see. Yeah, I know that you were expecting a sequel of the Blue Rose but the story wasn't very good, so I deleted it. And some things happened to me so I wasn't in a mood to write. Now it's everything okay and to compensate you, I decided to write this story. I hope you like it. Now, my fic features Mary Russell, Sherlock Holmes' partner and wife, from Laurie R. King's books. I recommend them for those who love our dear detective created by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. I thought: A Mary Russell in the present days like in BBC series? Why not? And I'm not the only one!**_

_**Enjoy!**_

I

A STRANGE MEETING

_20th April 2013_

It was becoming routine. Every night, Miriam Russell had The Dream that haunted her for years, making her experience her parents and little brother's death again and again. She was a lanky 19 year-old girl with white skin and long dark hair. Her big shiny hazel eyes were usually hidden behind her spectacles and her wardrobe consisted in sweatshirts with messages and hoods, jeans, large coats for the winter, berets and tennis shoes. Miriam came to London in the previous year to study History in the University of London (and to not have to put up with her aunt Marge, who was her guardian since her father, mother and brother died in an automobile accident when Miriam was 14). She was born in London but she lived the most part of her life in San Francisco, California. Now, she was living in an exiguous but cosy room  
in the University's campus.

The young student looked at the alarm clock. It was 9.30 am. She got up and got herself ready for another day, trying to convince herself that she was in her light-coloured bedroom with shelves full of books and CDs, a desk and a wardrobe. It was Saturday, so she wouldn't have classes. She decided to go for a walk. Maybe that would cheer her up.

It was a beautiful morning of April. Miriam didn't know but that day would change her life forever.

Miriam went to her favourite place to relax: The bookshop. She chose a book about the ancient Egypt. She couldn't resist to the temptation of reading it right there. It was when she ran into someone. Their books fell on the floor.

"Oh, I'm so sorry." She said timidly.

"Be more careful, young lady. You can hurt someone." The man replied coldly and harshly.

"I didn't do it on purpose!" She snapped, while they ducked to pick up their books.

"Of course not. If you weren't so distracted with petty things, you wouldn't run into me."

"Look, I said I was sorry, okay?" Miriam exasperated.

Miriam never saw a man like him. He was tall, thin and pale, with dark curly hair, sharp cheekbones and mesmerising light blue eyes. He was wearing a blue scarf and his large coat gave him a mysterious look. He had a deep, velvety baritone voice.

"Thank you." Miriam bubbled, taking the book that he handed her. "Excuse me but… Are you…?"

"Sherlock Holmes." The man introduced himself, extending his hand to her. She shook his hand, shocked. In front of her was the famous consulting detective, in flesh, whose adventures were registered on his companion Dr John Watson's blog. "Huh… The science books are there."

Sherlock Holmes frowned. "How did you know that I was looking for a science book?"

"You have acid burns in your cuffs." Miriam shrugged. "So I assumed that you were into chemistry and other sciences." She blushed. "Sorry. I'm prying. Nice to meet you, Mr Holmes."

She was about to leave when he spoke. "You didn't tell me your name, Miss…"

"Russell." Miriam turned to him. "Miriam Russell."

"Miriam. That's an interesting name."

"It was my mother's paternal grandmother's name." Miriam explained. "It's the Hebrew form of Mary and it's the name of the prophet Moses's sister."

"Impressive." Sherlock said, with sincerity. "How much to you know about chemistry?"

"Enough, but I'm not an expert." Miriam admitted.

"For a History student, it's interesting that you noticed that the burns were from chemicals."

"How do you know that I'm a History student?" She questioned.

"The rings round the eyes and the ink marks in your fingers told me that you're a student. Your choice of books shows your interest in the subject. You're left-handed, by the way. You're very young. How old are you? 18? 19? Yes, definitely 19. Your accent… You were born in London but you lived the most past of your life in the United States, more precisely in North California. You've been living in London for a year. You're a Jew or had a Jewish education. As a matter of fact, you seem to have knowledge of Hebrew." The girl looked sadly to her golden chain with the Star of David. "You survived to an automobile accident some years ago according to the fading scar tissues in your scalp, neck and right hand. The same accident also caused a residual weakness in that hand and a slight stiffness in your left knee."

Miriam just stared at him, speechless and hypnotised. In a matter of seconds he was able to know her live story, like he was reading her mind.

"Are you finished?" She finally said.

"Yes." He replied nonchalantly.

"Well, that was… impressive." Miriam said. "Absolutely amazing."

"Really? Thank you very much. Normally, people tell me to piss off." Sherlock smirked. "Nice to meet you, Miss Russell. Have a nice day."

And Sherlock Holmes turned on his heels. "Just for curiosity: About the Hebrew, how did you know?"

"The ink marks." He explained with a grin. "You've been writing from right to left."

"Of course." Miriam sighed. "Well, I must be going."

"Would you like to have a coffee with me?" He invited. Miriam froze. A man she just met was asking her to a coffee. And he wasn't any man. He was Sherlock Holmes. Miriam thought for a while before saying 'I know a nice place'.

* * *

She took him to a café called _Vicissitude_. Like she said, it was a nice place with a very colourful decoration. Miriam came there often with her University friends. Sherlock asked for a black coffee with two sugars. On the other hand, a _cappuccino_ was Miriam's choice. They talked like they knew each other for ages. Sometimes it's good to talk with someone intelligent for a change.

"So, what brings you to England besides being your mother's homeland and the Uni?"

"I just want to live my own life. My aunt is very strict and she's always controlling me. She was not very happy when I told her that I was going to London." She told.

"You lived with your aunt?"

"_She_ lived with _me_." Miriam corrected bitterly. "It's my parent's house and therefore my house. Unfortunately, she's my guardian until I reach my majority, since my parents…"

"…died." Sherlock deduced. "In the same automobile accident in which you were injured, am I right?"

"Yes." Miriam said looking at her feet. "My little brother died as well in the accident. Now, here I am, away from San Francisco and studying History in London." She smiled. "And who would've guessed that I would meet Sherlock Holmes?"

Sherlock chuckled. "And would who've guessed that I would find a girl who's not an idiot?"

"I'll take it as a compliment." Miriam grinned.

"What about me?" Sherlock asked.

"What about you?" Miriam raised an eyebrow.

"Yes, about me. Tell me about myself. I'm sure you have enough deductive skills to do it."

"Is that a challenge, Mr Holmes?"

"Call me Sherlock. And yes, it's a challenge. Impress me." He said.

"Well…" Miriam cleared her throat. "For a start, I'm not good with ages. I assume that you must be… 30 years old?"

"32." Sherlock corrected. "You are getting close."

"Your posh manners, your expensive clothes and your vast vocabulary tell me that you are an educated man and you're from a very wealthy family. Upper class, I dare to say. The fact that you don't never talk about your family and childhood shows that your relationship with your family is not very happy. Maybe that's why you're not attached to someone romantically. You trying to quit smoking but it's not working because you smell like tobacco and you have vestiges of nicotine in your fingertips. You have calluses in your fingers due to your violin playing and, as I said before, you're into science."

Now it was Sherlock who was speechless.

"I asked for it, didn't I?" Sherlock blushed.

Nadia giggled. "Yes, you did."

"You're wasting time studying History." Sherlock stated. "You should be a detective."

"Being a detective is not my dream job but I will keep that in mind." Miriam smiled.

Sherlock's mobile phone went off. "Excuse me." He said. "Sherlock Holmes. Yes, I'll be right there." He kept the phone in his pocket, rose from the chair and put his coat on. "Well, I must be going."

"Another case?"

"What else?" He smiled. "See you soon, Miss Russell."

"Call me Miriam."

"Miriam it is, then. If you need something, you know where I am. "Sherlock said, with a click of his tongue and blinking his eye to her. "It was a pleasure. _Shalom_."

"_Mazel Tov_." Miriam replied, watching him leave.

* * *

"Where have you been?" Veronica Beaconsfield, Miriam's roommate inquired. "When I woke up, I you weren't home."

"Calm down, Ronnie. I'm home now." Ronnie was her best friend. They met in the University (Ronnie studied Fine Arts.) and since then, they became inseparable. It was, in fact, an amazing thing. The girl couldn't be more different. Ronnie was beautiful, blonde, sophisticated, with a sculptural body, like the girls who appeared in magazines. "I just went for a walk."

"You should call me. I was worried." Ronnie scolded.

"Sorry." Miriam apologised. "You will never guess who I met this morning."

"Who?" Ronnie questioned, visibly curious.

"Sherlock Holmes." Miriam told.

"Sherlock Holmes? _The_ Sherlock Holmes?"

"The very same." Miriam nodded.

"Oh. My. God." Ronnie exclaimed. "How it was? I mean, how is he in person?"

"Please, Ronnie." Miriam groaned. "I literally ran into him. Then we drank coffee and talked. Nothing more."

"You've got to tell me that story. In full detail." Ronnie demanded.

"God, Ronnie, you look like aunt." Miriam mumbled. Suddenly, her mobile phone went off. Speak in the devil…

"Hi, Aunt Marge." Miriam greeted reluctantly. Her aunt only called her to criticise her or to make her an inquiry about her life.

"Hello, dear." Her aunt saluted. "I just called to know how were you going."

"I'm fine, thank you." Miriam replied.

"How is Uni?"

"Good. I have had good marks. I made friends."

"What friends?" Her tone was suddenly stern. "Do I know them?"

"No, you don't." Miriam sighed. "They are good people. Ronnie is a nice girl."

"Well, I hope that she's a good influence for you. What have you been dressing? I hope that's not that ridiculous sporty clothes you always wear."

"Aunt, don't tell me what to dress! I'm 19!"

"I'm just certifying that you behaviour like a lady." Her aunt said. "What about the boys? Have you met someone? The Englishmen are such gentlemen, but you know, boys will be boys."

"No, aunt, I haven't met anyone." Miriam answered impatiently.

"Well, maybe if you stop acting like a tomboy…"

"Aunt!" Miriam exclaimed.

"I saw a beautiful dress. I would buy you if you wanted."

"Yeah, with my parent's money…" Miriam muttered.

"Don't be saucy, young lady!"

"I've got to go." Miriam hanged up. As she expected, her aunt called her to get on her nerves. Her hobby was speaking ill of everything and everybody, especially Miriam. Her choices, her tastes, her friends, everything was a motive to bring her down, as if taking advantage of her parents' death to spend their money wasn't enough. Marge hated Miriam. And the feeling was mutual.

"I can't stand it!" Miriam complained. "One more call of the 'General' and I'll be sick!"

Ronnie giggled. "I'm going to make lunch."

To calm her nerves, Miriam grabbed her violoncello and started playing to exorcise the thoughts about her aunt.

* * *

Meanwhile, at 221B Baker Street, Sherlock Holmes was playing his violin, with a certain young girl in his mind. He didn't know why but Miriam Russell had a deep effect on him. She was smart, very smart. Sherlock shook his head to keep those thoughts away. He had more important things to think about than some girl he barely knew.

"Sherlock!" Mrs Hudson, the landlady cried from the kitchen. "There's a severed hand on the fridge! You really should stop bringing body parts!"

"For god's sake, Mrs Hudson. It's an experiment." Sherlock justified.

"Your experiments will give me a heart attack someday." The old landlady scolded motherly. "This flat looks empty since John got married, don't you think, Sherlock?"

"Indeed." Sherlock nodded. His best friend and companion-of-arms John Watson got married and since then they didn't solve cases as often as before. Sherlock never liked the idea of John settling down and leaving 221B Baker Street. But John was happy and therefore Sherlock was also happy. However, there was something missing. A lacuna that need to be filled. What or who Sherlock didn't know.

But he would find out.

_**So, what did you think about the first chapter? First, just a few notes: I changed the name of the character because I want to write scenes with Mary Morstan. Of course I will. A Sherlock fic without John (He will appear next chapter) wouldn't make sense, at least to me. Two Marys would be confusing, I think. The reason why I chose that name is in this chapter. Go to .com, search the name Miriam and confirm it. For those who don't know, Shalom literally means peace but it's used to say hello and goodbye. And Mazel Tov means good luck. I did this research, because, as the original character, Miriam is a Jew.**_


	2. Apprenticeship

_**Hello! Sorry for the delay but here is the second chapter. I made just a few changes in the last chapter, but nothing relevant. Enjoy.**_

II

APPRENTICESHIP

As usual, after a Sunday spent with Ronnie, studying, chatting, and making the meals, Miriam wrote on her blog. It was her way to open her heart and a therapy. But before she fell asleep, a man came to her mind: Sherlock Holmes. That man was so… She couldn't tell exactly what he was.

If she knew that the consulting detective was thinking on her too… Sherlock never met someone like her. The only people with powers of deduction that he knew were his brother Mycroft, his nemesis Moriarty - who was dead - and himself. He had a feeling that it wasn't the first time that he would see her.

Well, in that case, he would give destiny a little help. Put Miriam Russell to the test.

And another day came. The clangs of the Big Ben were heard and sky was grey, although it wasn't very cold. In short, it was normal day of spring. Miriam got used to London's climate. When she lived in California, she didn't have to wear those long coats and her purple scarf very often, as she was wearing at the moment. In San Francisco, it was sunny. But she liked London. She liked to breathe the air of the city where she was born and her mother's homeland. Miriam went shopping in Piccadilly Circus while Ronnie went to her boyfriend's.

Her mobile phone went off, announcing a message received.

**Find me. SH**

She looked around. No sign of Sherlock Holmes. Yes, she knew it was him. Those initials didn't mistake her. Then, she looked at the ground. There were footprints behind her. She recalled the black leather lace-up shoes that Sherlock was wearing on the previous day. There were vestiges of grass. From a park, undoubtedly. The closest park was Green Park, so she went there. Miriam went through the park from end to end. Until she noticed a blue scarf hanged on a tree. Sherlock Holmes' scarf. And it was near a bus stop. More footprints leaded there. So, it meant that Sherlock Holmes went by bus. Where would he go? Miriam checked the routes: 74, C2, 148 and 38. After thinking for some seconds, she got to the conclusion that he took the route 148 to Westminster, where the Big Ben was. After all, Sherlock Holmes _observed_. And there was no better place to observe in London than the Big Ben.

She took the bus. When she got to Westminster, Miriam went straight to the Big Ben. She entered and went upstairs until reach the top. There was Sherlock Holmes, with his back turned on her and looking out at the city.

"Nice view, isn't it?" He said. "I thought that the Big Ben would be a nice place for us to meet."

"Excellent choice." Miriam nodded. "I really don't want to know how you got my number."

Sherlock smirked as an answer. "Fate, kismet, destiny… Call it what you want. I don't believe that I met a girl like you by chance."

"What do you mean a girl like me?" Miriam questioned.

"You're intelligent, intuitive and observing." He said. "I don't meet people like that very often, unfortunately."

"You don't say it."

"You impressed me. And trust me, I'm very hard to impress." Sherlock assured, walking around her majestically.

"You flatter me." Miriam blushed.

"I'm not flattering, I'm telling the truth." He stated in an arrogant tone.

"Right." Miriam said.

"It's amazing how you found me easily." Sherlock pointed out.

"I just…"

"…deduced." Sherlock concluded. "I have a proposition for you."

"I'm all hears."

"You have excellent capacities of deduction but you're still green." Sherlock started. "I would like to teach you, if you want to."

"Whoa, wait a minute! You want to teach me?!"

"That what I said. Are you deaf?"

"No. It's just hard to believe." Miriam replied. "The infamous Sherlock Holmes, teaching me. I don't know you and you don't know me."

"I know you enough. You saw by yourself." Sherlock said.

Miriam sighed. "What will you teach me?"

"Detection. The science of deduction. I also want to teach you chemistry. Things useful for someone with your skills. _Our_ skills." Sherlock said. "It's less boring than History, don't you think?"

"History is not boring." Miriam contested. "It's rather interesting."

"Well, it doesn't matter. Do you accept it or not?" Sherlock urged impatiently.

Why not? It would be interesting to learn with a brilliant mind as Sherlock Holmes. She took a while taking in the fact that the one and only Sherlock Holmes wanted to teach her, Miriam Russell, an average History student.

"Mr Holmes. I accept it." Miriam decided. With a smile, they shook hands. _Her hands were so soft and warm_, he though. What was that? It was like they didn't want to separate their hands. Nonetheless, they did it, blushing.

"I already told you to call me Sherlock." He said.

"Sorry. Sherlock." She said, smiling warmly.

"Shall we meet in my flat to discuss it?"

"OK." Miriam agreed.

"What about 5 o'clock?"

"I'll be there."

"Do you want me to take you home?" He offered.

"No, thank you." Miriam said, politely.

"I insist. I'll take your groceries."

"Seriously, that's not necessary. I'll see later." Miriam turned on her heels and walked away, leaving Sherlock watching her.

* * *

And so, as agreed upon, Miriam rode her bicycle to Baker Street. She took a deep breath before ring the bell. An old lady opened the door. "Oh, hello." The lady greeted.

"Hi." Miriam returned. "May I come in? Sherlock Holmes is expecting me."

"Of course. He's is the living room. Would you like a cup of tea?" She offered.

"Yes, thank you."

Mrs Hudson went to the kitchen to make the tea. Miriam entered slowly in the division. Sherlock was there, at his desk, with his eyes glued to a microscope. The consulting detective smiled and looked at his watch. "5 on the dot. You're very punctual, Miriam."

"It's my British side." Miriam jested.

Sherlock chuckled. "Please, have a sit."

So she did. Miriam looked around the division. It was all messed up, full of papers, boxes and science equipment everywhere. There was a smiling face painted on the wall with yellow spray. To her disgust, Miriam noticed small bullet holes on it. There was also a shelf full of books -Was that a skull? - A _Samsung_ television, a sound system and a _Cluedo _board was impaled on the wall, above the fireplace.

"I was right." Miriam finally said.

"About what?" Sherlock questioned.

"Your relationship with your family isn't very happy." Miriam rose and grasped a photograph that was hidden among the books. It showed a little boy with curly hair. - Definitely, Sherlock - Beside him, there was an older and more corpulent boy with dark straight hair. Behind them, there was a very beautiful woman, also with dark curly hair and a man with straight hair. "If it wasn't the case, you wouldn't put it among the books, where nobody could see it."

"All right, enough." He tutted. "I asked you to come because I want to teach you."

"So you said."

"Yoo-hoo!" Mrs Hudson came in with the cups and the tea pot. "Here's your tea."

"This is Mrs Hudson, my landlady." Sherlock introduced. "If you need something, just ask her. Would you bring some biscuits too, Mrs Hudson?"

"I'm not your housekeeper, Sherlock!" Mrs Hudson retorted. "Anyway, if you need something, just say it. I'll be in my flat." She said. The bell rang. "Oh, were you expecting someone else, Sherlock?"

"It's John." Sherlock told. In fact, it was. Mrs Hudson opened the door to a short blond man with military haircut, wearing jeans and a jumper. So this was Dr John H Watson, the blogger and Sherlock Holmes' companion.

"Hey. Mrs Hudson, how are you?" John greeted.

"Oh, I'm fine, John." The old lady cooed.

"Hello, mate."

"John." Sherlock greeted, hugging his friend. "This is Miriam Russell."

"Hello." John saluted.

"Hi. Nice to meet you, Dr Watson." Miriam greeted, shaking his hand.

"Call me John." He asked. "So, how was the case?"

"Solved." Sherlock told, taking a gulp of the tea. ". The MI5 guy got sick when he came home from Iraq, but was actually poisoned _before_, when he was on the mission. Not very challenging."

"Pity."

"How's Mary?"

"Mary is fine. She sends her love." John said. After numberless flirts and break ups, he finally had a stable relationship and got married. Yes, Mary Morstan was definitely the woman of his life.

"I'm going to teach Miriam the science of deduction." Sherlock announced proudly.

"You?" John almost choked. "Teach her?" He turned to Miriam. "How long have you met?"

"We just met yesterday." Miriam answered.

"She's very intelligent. Hard to believe, isn't it?"

John stared at the girl, with eyes wide open. Sherlock would never make a compliment like that. - Actually he would never make a compliment at all. - He was the only consulting detective in the world. His intelligence was matchless and he knew it. He loved to show off. What happened?

"Miriam, make a demonstration, please." Sherlock said.

"You just came from work, as you brought your medical kit. You're living a happy marriage, as your wedding ring wasn't taken off. You seem to be very fond of that jumper. A present? Yes. From whom? Your wife."

"All right, all right." John interrupted her. "I got it. God, Sherlock! Do want to create a female version of you?"

"Me? No." Sherlock smirked. "Let's say I just found my match."

"Okay."

"So, when do we start?" Miriam asked.

"What about tomorrow at the same time?" Sherlock suggested.

"That's good for me." She agreed.

"Good."

"Now if you excuse me, I have to go. I have an essay to present tomorrow morning. It was nice to meet you, John. See you tomorrow then." Miriam said, leaving.

"See you tomorrow."

"Let me get this straight." John started. Sherlock just stared at the window, watching Miriam saying goodbye to Mrs Hudson and riding her bicycle. "You brought a girl here. A girl you barely know… to teach her?"

"Why not? How many times do you find someone like me or her?" Sherlock said. "Oh, I just can't wait for tomorrow. This will be fun!"

* * *

Time passed. During that month, Miriam started with her apprenticeship. Sherlock taught her how to develop her powers of deduction as well as everything about forensic science. She learnt to identify substances with Sherlock watching her while she looked through the microscope. Now, she knew every kind of soil, although she had a lot to learn. Surprisingly, she could conciliate her apprenticeship with her studies. Miriam was always an honour student and that didn't change.

Sherlock also taught her to fight.

"Come on! You're fighting like a girl!" He scolded.

"I _am_ a girl!" Miriam snapped and punched him several times - in vain. He was good in defending himself. And he was fast. "And for the record, once, when I was 12, the son of a banker was upsetting my little brother. I punched his nose."

"Really?" Sherlock scoffed. "We should better stop. It's not worth my time to teach how to fight."

"Why? Afraid of being beaten by a girl?" She scoffed.

"Why should I? I was already beaten by a woman." And he added. "But it didn't count. The Woman drugged me."

"Really? Oh!" Miriam finally realised. "Irene Adler."

"You read John's blog, don't you?" Sherlock grimaced.

"Yes, and your website too."

"Now that's a surprise. John says that nobody goes to my website. 'Who cares about the 240 types of tobacco ashes?' He says. Actually there are 243 but I already told you that. Now let's proceed, if you still want to embarrass a man by beating him." Sherlock smirked.

"My pleasure." Miriam grinned. "But you know…" She approached him. "Some women don't need to drug a man…" She was even closer to him. "…to beat him." She stroked his arm - Sherlock trembled, his heart racing, but he didn't give in. - and to Sherlock's surprise, Miriam tripped him up, making him fall on the floor.

"I win!" Miriam boasted.

"You played dirty." Sherlock breathed.

"I didn't play dirty. You got distracted, thinking about rubbish." Miriam teased.

Sherlock smiled. "I will remember that when my opponent has beautiful eyes like yours."

Not it was her turn to wince. And Sherlock's turn to pay her back.

"This time, I win." He smirked.

"The class is over, 'master'." Miriam answered back.

"The class is only over when I say so." Sherlock replied.

Sherlock's mobile phone went off. "Yes. Where? I'll meet you there." He pushed the end call button. "It's Lestrade."

"Are you on a job?"

"'Are you on a job?' Quite frankly, Miriam, you're in London time enough to stop with those Americanisms." Sherlock scolded. "Yes, we have a case. Kidnapping. Do you want to come?"

"Well, it's a chance to see you in action." He picked his mobile phone and called John.

_**And next chapter, Miriam's first case. Ready?**_


	3. Tenby

_**Hello, people. Sorry for the delay. Did you ever have a writer block? It sucks!**_

_**Anyway, here's chapter 3.**_

III

TENBY

Sherlock and Miriam hailed a taxi to Belgravia. John caught them later. There, the Detective Inspector Gregory 'Greg' Lestrade awaited, with Sergeant Sally Donovan and Anderson, the forensic. The house was crimson, big, with a huge garden and a pool.

"Hello again, freak." Sergeant Donovan smirked.

"Hello, Sally." Sherlock saluted coldly.

"Who is she?"

"She's with us." Sherlock stated.

"She can't be here. This is a crime scene." Anderson said.

"She's my new assistant." Sherlock said.

"Your assistant…" Strange. First, Sherlock Holmes had John Watson. Now that girl? Miriam didn't say it, but she felt flattered when Sherlock referred to her as her assistant.

"Two minds think better than one, right? Imagine three."

"If she's with Sherlock and John, let her in." Lestrade said.

Reluctantly, they let them in. The kidnapped child, Jessica Simpson, was the daughter of a Member of the British Parliament. The crying mother showed them the photograph of the little girl.

"This is Jessica." Mrs Simpson said. The photo showed a smiling 6-year-old girl with auburn hair. "W-When we woke up in the morning, I went to her bedroom and she wasn't there." She cried.

"She-She would never go out like that. She's just... Just a little girl." The father said.

"Haven't you heard or seen anything suspect?" Lestrade inquired.

"No." The mother said.

"So, your daughter's bedroom was right beside yours and you didn't hear or see anything?"

"Sherlock!" Miriam and John scolded.

"Any ransom request?" John questioned.

"No." Lestrade said.

"That's weird. The daughter of a member of the British Government? There must be a ransom." Sherlock pointed out.

"Let's see the bedroom." Lestrade said.

"Sherlock is not known by his tact." John whispered.

"Yeah, I already noticed." Miriam muttered.

It was a typical little girl's bedroom, decorated in shades of pink with lots of dolls and plush and a photograph of Jessica with her parents in a light pink frame on the bedside table.

"The door was opened by outside." Sherlock noticed.

"No fingerprints." Anderson told, frustrated.

"The kidnappers wore gloves." Sherlock concluded.

"Kidnappers?" Anderson frowned.

"Two kidnappers, to be more precise. There is more than one footprint. Look." Sherlock said, looking through his magnifier. "We are looking for a tall man…"

"6 feet to say the least." Miriam nodded.

"His shoes… Size 8." Sherlock realised. "He wears boots."

"The other is shorter." Miriam told. "And also wore boots. The kind you wear for hiking. Size 7."

"May I know how do you know that?" Donovan inquired with a piercing gaze.

"By the length of his stride." Miriam enlightened.

"Great. Freak number 2." Donovan muttered.

"At least, I don't sleep with married men." The girl snapped, glancing at Sally and Anderson. They gave Sherlock a murderous look. John couldn't help to snort.

"I didn't tell her a word." Sherlock assured with a mischievous smile. "It's not her fault that Anderson smells like the perfume you wear or that she noticed his wedding ring."

"Freak." Sally mumbled.

"I heard it." Sherlock muttered, not even a bit offended. The Scotland Yard didn't like him, especially Sally and Anderson. They hated the fact that Sherlock was always a step ahead from the police. And 'freak' was their favourite insult for him, as everyone else's, except John and Miriam.

"I got used to that name too." Miriam murmured with a warm smile. Sherlock was taken back but smiled her back. Miriam knew what that was. She knew what was being bullied or ignored by her colleagues in school and university. She knew what was hearing them whispering 'freak', 'weird' and other names. They only approached her to ask her help with the works and nothing more. Then, they turned back on her. Therefore it was a surprise that she, Miriam Russell, an intellectual, tomboyish girl, had a friend like Ronnie, a cutie, popular and sophisticated girl.

John stared at them, astonished. Sherlock smiling? His friend has been strange since Miriam came to their lives. God, he even started eating! And Sherlock never ate while he was working ("Digestion makes me slow."). And the songs he played on the violin were more cheerful, like he was never so happy in his life.

Sherlock, John and Miriam went outside and checked the garden. There were more footprints made of dirt. The consulting detective put the dirt in a plastic bag for evidence.

"I'll take this for analysis." Sherlock decided. "If we know where the kidnappers came from…"

"…we'll know where they took Jessica." John acquiesced.

"Poor little girl." Miriam said. "Why didn't they ask for a ransom? I mean the daughter of a deputy? It's weird."

"I have no idea." Sherlock admitted. "Revenge? Traffic? Power? Just for fun? I saw crimes being committed for various motives. Well, off we go. We've got work to do."

More questions were made and that was all for that day. Sherlock, John and Miriam went to Saint Bartholomew's Hospital. Sherlock and John were an assiduous presence in Saint Bart's, as during some cases, Sherlock had to examine a corpse or evidence in order to find leads that could solve the case in question. For that, he counted on Molly Hooper, his favourite forensic pathologist.

Molly had a crush on Sherlock. That was no secret. However, the consulting detective hadn't the same feelings. But he loved her. As a friend. He would even trust her his life. He counted on her and he made a point on telling her that on the fatidic day Moriarty schemed to discredit Sherlock, making him being unfairly accused of the kidnapping of an American ambassador's two children. Molly helped Sherlock to fake his death in order to save the people he cared while he chased Moriarty's assassins and come back to clean his name.

Yes, he trusted her. And for Molly that was good enough.

"Molly."

"Oh, hi, Sherlock." She smiled coyly and blushed. "Hello, John."

"Hi."

"And… You are…"

"Miriam Russell."

"Molly Hooper." Molly said politely. "What can I do for you?"

"I need to examine this dirt. The life of a kidnapping child depends on it." Sherlock said.

"Oh, my god. Okay. Make yourself comfortable."

And Sherlock set his hand to it. He examined the substance accurately on the microscope, making mental notes. Molly observed him with a glint in her eyes. That wasn't unnoticed for Miriam.

"I brought some coffee." Molly offered.

"Thank you." Sherlock said, without taking his eyes off the microscope.

"Thanks, Molly."

"Thank you."

"Always happy to oblige." Molly said with a smile.

"Limestone!" Sherlock exclaimed.

"What?"

"This is limestone. And this specific kind of limestone is found in Tenby, Wales." Sherlock clarified.

"You mean that they took Jessica to Wales?" John asked.

"Exactly." Sherlock smirked. "Which means that we are on our way." They left the mortuary and hailed a taxi to Paddington Station.

* * *

Tenby is one of the sunnier locations in Wales. The Town was full of tourists as always. Tenby was famous for its beaches and history and it was full of shops, pubs and restaurants. But that wasn't the reason why they were there. A little girl was kidnapped and she needed to be safe, at home, with her mother and father.

They rented a _Range Rover _and dressed up like tourists. It was Sherlock's idea, of course. It was best they investigated without being noticed.

"So, here we are. What are we going to do now?" Miriam asked.

"We investigate." Sherlock said. "This is a small town. Someone must have seen or heard anything. Now, watch and learn."

"You heard him. 'Watch and learn.'" John chuckled. Miriam just rolled her eyes.

"Morning." Sherlock saluted when they entered in an inn.

"Good morning." The innkeeper said.

"Isn't it Tenby a nice town?" Sherlock said. He turned to John. "My friend here knows how to choose a place to spend the weekend. Is there a room available for us?"

"We have only two rooms available." The man said. "A single room and a double room."

"Perfect." Sherlock smiled. "One for my friend…" He put his arm around Miriam's neck. "… and another for me and my wife."

"What?" Miriam breathed, blushing.

"Just play along." Sherlock muttered. John had to make an effort to not laugh.

"Of course." The innkeeper said. "Here are the keys."

"Thank you."

"Wife…" John snorted when they went upstairs to their rooms.

"Yeah, wife…" Miriam grumped. "You could say that I was your sister, for instance."

"We're not exactly look-alike." Sherlock justified.

"Yeah, right." Miriam muttered.

"Well, you bicker like a real couple." John pointed out.

"Please…" Sherlock grumped. "I'm a bachelor and I don't intend to change my marital status."

"I have no doubt of it." Miriam quipped. John just chuckled.

They unpacked. Miriam 'just' brought a change of clothes for each day they would spend there, two pairs of tennis shoes, a pair of slippers, two large coats, a pyjama, a nightdress, a bath towel (You never know what you'll find in the hotel.), her laptop and a small bag for the toothbrush, the toothpaste, the shampoo and the conditioner. She even brought her text books ("I have an exam on Monday!")! Sherlock was amused. She studied anywhere, anytime. She never stopped. Just like him. Then went to dinner.

"So, what will we do now? Won't we look for Jessica?" Miriam asked.

"We need to be patient." Sherlock said. "If they know that some strangers are here looking for the girl, asking questions, who knows what they will do."

"You think they will kill her?" Miriam questioned. _If they didn't kill her already._ She thought. Miriam shook her head to avoid those thoughts. She should think positive. The girl was alive. She had to be.

"I think not." Sherlock stated. "The girl is too valuable to them. She's the daughter of a member of the British Government. They will keep her alive."

Miriam felt relieved.

"The question is: They need her for what? They didn't ask for money as most kidnappers." Sherlock mused. He stayed still, with his hands like in prayer.

Miriam nodded. "She must be scared."

Sherlock said nothing.

"You seem uncomfortable with this case." Miriam noticed.

"What makes you say that?"

"I just know."

"Nobody is comfortable with children kidnappings." Sherlock said nonchalantly.

Miriam raised an eyebrow. Sherlock Holmes would never be affected by a case. Victims were just victims. He didn't care about them. What really mattered to him was to solve the case, especially if the case was a bizarre and complex one.

Something must have happened to him. Some kidnapping case that went wrong. That was most plausible hypothesis.

"Do you want to talk?" Miriam questioned.

"Why would I want to talk?"

"You seem like you need to." Miriam said with a sad smile.

"Sorry to disappoint you but you're wrong."

"I wonder why I don't believe you."

"As if I cared." Sherlock retorted.

Miriam huffed. "Why don't open yourself to people? Why do wear that mask of a cold, heartless man?"

"Mask?"

"Yes, a mask. You a good person, Sherlock. You just don't show. It's not good to keep things for yourself. I know by self-experience." Sherlock just shrugged, rose and left.

Yes, she knew. After her parents and brother's death, she had therapy. And a blog. It wouldn't bring them back but it made her lighter.

Sort of.

"Well, you must be tired with all these emotions and it's late. You should go to sleep." John said.

John knew. Whatever happed to Sherlock, John knew.

"John, there is something about this case that is upsetting Sherlock. Do you know what's going on?"

"Well, Miriam…" John took a deep breath and started. "It has to do with… the day he… 'died'."

"What happened?"

"Sherlock was accused of kidnapping children. But it was all a scheme, planned by Moriarty. You heard about him, didn't you?"

"Yes." Miriam acquiesced. "And the press said that Sherlock was a fraud. Honestly, I didn't believe that."

"That's why he doesn't talk about it." John sighed. "And, quite frankly, Miriam, I don't want to remember that either."

"I understand. It must been horrible to see your best friend kill himself, even though it wasn't true."

"It was, Miriam." John said. "It was."

* * *

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!"

"Miriam, what's going on?" Sherlock asked, watching the girl panting, sweating and with tears in her eyes. John walked in the room, frightened. "What happened?"

"N-Nothing." She stuttered. "It was just a nightmare. Sorry. Go back to sleep."

No. It wasn't just a nightmare and Miriam knew that.

It was The Dream.

Again.

_**So, did you like it? Yeah, Miriam has a blog. I made that change. Well, if Sherlock has a website and John and Molly had blogs, why wouldn't Miriam have one too?**_

_**God, I don't know how to thank you for all your lovely reviews, follows and favourites. I love you guys!**_


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